


Candlelight

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Post War, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-27
Updated: 2007-08-27
Packaged: 2018-10-27 09:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: The sight of Ron and Hermione in a compromising position stirs up emotions for Ginny.This story was written before DH and is consequently AU.





	Candlelight

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This story was previously published on both Checkmated and Simply Undeniable.

   
 _Damn._  
  
She opened a bleary eye and peered at the clock; it read a quarter till four. Stressed or not, she had to get some sleep. She’d spent far too many nights lately tossing and turning, wishing her jumble of incomprehensible thoughts could simply ebb away and sleep would descend on her. Thus far, she’d wound up dissatisfied by night after night of erratic, restless sleep. Actually, if she was honest, more like a lack thereof.  
 _  
They’re home now,_ she continually reminded herself. _They’re home. All three of them are home, safe and accounted for. Yes, they have to leave again soon, but it’s almost over. For now, they’re home._ Their presence should have brought her some semblance of comfort, but for some reason, it made her feel even more restless. The two boys were upstairs now, in the room that had looked so terribly lonely and chilled since they’d left: her favorite brother, barely older than she herself, probably sprawled on his back in a bed he’d outgrown by the age of ten; and the man she’d been in love with for so long, curled into the fetal position he always slept in, especially when troubled. Then there was the girl in the bed next to her, the woman who had become her sister in every way but blood. She slept in exactly the same fashion as she did everything else in life: diligently, efficiently, with purpose.  
  
 _But they’re here_ , she told herself for the umpteenth time. _They’re home._  
  
She needed some sort of confirmation, needed to see for herself that her friend was right there next to her. Fluttering her eyes open again, she instinctively turned to look toward her best friend’s bed. Her body went numb with terror when she saw it was empty.  
 _  
Kidnapped,_ she speculated wildly. _Being tortured by Death Eaters. Under the Imperius Curse._ The logical part of her brain told her she’d probably just gone to the loo, but the din of horrible possibilities easily drowned it out. In these times, one had to consider even the worst possible scenario a very strong likelihood.  
  
She waited about four minutes, her mind going through every horrific scenario she could conceive of in her sleep-deprived mind. When her friend still did not return, she climbed out of bed, put on her dressing gown, grabbed her wand, and stormed out of her bedroom. _If I find her in this house, unharmed, and she has just made me worry like that,_ she thought furiously, _then Voldemort will be the least of her concerns._  
  
To her dismay, it appeared she would not be cursing anyone into the middle of next week. The loo on her floor was empty. She went to check the kitchen – maybe she’d gone for a glass of water – but it, too, was empty. She was slightly sidetracked when she saw a figure sleeping on the couch under a knit blanket; it did not take her long to recognize him as her boyfriend. _Former boyfriend,_ she corrected herself. His presence on the couch puzzled her for a moment, but then she considered the matter: she’d had to sleep in the same room with her brother’s intolerable snoring before, and it was understandable if that was the reason his best friend had retreated.  
  
She began to panic slightly. _Okay,_ she thought, _focus_. _She has to be here somewhere. It’s not as though you could sleep through a band of Death Eaters marching in to take her away...or could you?_ All logical places eliminated, she started on the illogical ones...and then something in her brain clicked. A conversation they’d had just a few hours before, as they’d lay in the dark, trying to drift off, suddenly made much more sense. _  
  
“Do you ever regret it, Ginny? Do you ever look back and wish you’d never done it, knowing you might...might not ever do it again?”  
  
“Never. If we’d never done that and we never got the chance to...then that would be regret.”  
_  
That had to be where she was.  
  
Wand aloft, she walked up the stairs. In her haste to have her suspicions confirmed, she nearly breezed past her brother’s room completely. Turning back to glance in, she let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding.  
  
The gangly, awkward frame that so often spilled out of his bed was not sprawled out as it usually was; instead, it was curled up, facing away from the door. His arm was bent at an angle that made it quite obvious he was holding something to his chest.  
  
Her nightgown lay helter-skelter on the floor.  
  
Gingerly, she padded into the room and approached the bed. Indeed, the missing girl was there, decidedly safe and unharmed, though quite naked and, she suspected, chilled, as the covers had slipped down almost completely. Her friend’s back was pressed to her brother’s chest; he had one long arm wrapped around her chest, covering her breasts, and the other protectively draped over her middle, his head partially buried in her hair. They were both sound asleep, their breathing almost synchronized.  
  
She thought her heart might overflow with emotion at the sight of them sleeping so close. She fancied herself one of the first people to have realized that this was no ordinary friendship. She had suspected it the first time her name had cropped up in one of his letters home during his first year at Hogwarts. All suspicions had been immediately confirmed the first time she’d actually seen them together the next year – the bickering, the near-flirting (as near as twelve-year-olds ever got), the covert glances when they thought nobody was watching. She had seen for herself when their relationship had finally taken a romantic turn a few months back, but for some reason, she had not expected it to have gone this far yet. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered how long their relationship had been intimate.  
  
As if giving a nonverbal answer to a nonverbal question, the sleeping girl shifted her leg a little, revealing a few drops of blood on the sheets. _Their first time,_ she thought, her heart melting. _Their first time._  
  
Hot tears instantly flooded her eyes, memories welling up inside her until she could have screamed for the intensity. She remembered her own so well: the gentle exploration, the soft touches, the heavenly weight of body on body, the slow slide, the twinge of pain, the slight bleed, the soothing apology, the growing ecstasy, the tingly rush. They had prepared and arranged and planned, thinking they had all the time in the world to make it perfect.  
  
That was not the case here. These two – they had had to make do with what they had. There were no roses here, nor any soft sheets or comfortable beds built for two, like the ones she’d been treated to. Instead, they were lying cramped in the bed he’d had since he was a child, on a hard mattress in a drafty room. She suddenly cottoned on to the fact that the third member of the trio must have known about this plan and had made himself scarce on purpose. Hell, they even had to make concessions to get some _privacy,_ such a basic element for an experience like this, yet something they were not afforded.  
  
But then, they had known that, unlike her own first time, they very well may not have had all the time in the world to make it perfect. And they had obviously known that they had to seize whatever time they had left together, because they would not get one second of it back, and that second might be the last one they ever had. They could not have lived without being together. They could not have died without being together.  
  
Her friend shivered – the lack of covers was indeed affecting her. Without stirring from his slumber, her brother moved his hand from her belly and pulled her a little closer, trying to share his warmth. It was such a sweet, tender gesture that tears began to fall down her face. Each facet of their relationship expressed itself so clearly: Devotion. Care. Trust. Hope. And love, the purest love she’d ever seen.  
  
In an almost maternal gesture, her hands fell to where the covers had bunched themselves up at her friend’s feet and settled around her brother’s waist. Quietly, she pulled them up to their shoulders, tucking them both under the one thin blanket. His hand, she was fairly sure, would keep her far warmer than this ratty old thing.  
  
He stirred at the sound of the fabric rustling around his shoulder. His eyes opened and then widened at the sight of his baby sister in the room. “Ginny?” he said in a panicky whisper, and she could see him blush even in the dark.  
  
“Shh,” she whispered. “If you stir too much, you’ll wake her.”  
  
“What are you doing in here?” he asked, a horrified look on his face.  
  
“I went to look for Hermione,” she replied.  
  
He looked around, more embarrassed than she had ever seen him (quite an accomplishment). “But, please – please, Gin, don’t –   
  
“Not a soul,” she answered his unfinished sentence. “Now go back to sleep. I’ll head everyone off in the morning until you both wake up.” She patted his shoulder lightly and started for the door to the room.  
  
“Hey, Gin,” he whispered, nestling under the blanket, “thanks.”  
  
She smiled and brushed away another tear. “Congratulations,” she replied.  
  
On her way out of the room, her eyes fell on something with a metallic glimmer by his bed. Curious, she bent to pick it up and found that it was quite warm to the touch. She held it up to the moonlight streaming through the window, and the tears started afresh.  
  
It was a candle. The wick had burned out, and the wax had flooded the base of the small, pewter candleholder. It was one of the precious Prewett family heirlooms, of which there were not many. Her mum only ever brought these candlesticks out for very special occasions. In fact, Bill’s wedding was the first time she’d seen them since she was very young. The candle, too, was from a special collection – she’d only ever seen them in the photos from her parents’ wedding. They were so special that she’d never even been told where the remaining ones from that set were kept. She wondered how in the world he had found them.  
  
He had tried to make it perfect. It was the worst possible scenario for the loss of one’s virginity, and he knew it, so he had put forth extra effort to make it special for her. Roses were difficult to come across on the battlefield. Finding a large, comfortable bed with satin sheets was simply impractical. As they weren’t at Hogwarts anymore, he couldn’t let her mind take flight and give her whatever setting she’d always dreamed about in the Room of Requirement – she had to settle for his parents’ house, _with them present_ – but the one thing he could give her was candlelight. And he gave her the best candlelight he could.  
  
“Congratulations,” she whispered again, not to him this time, but to her. She was so, so lucky. Her first time, simple and unadorned and basic as it had been, was its own brand of perfect. It had been with him, and she knew that was enough to guarantee that she considered it perfect.  
  
In leaving, she walked straight back into the living room. Her lover – _former lover_ , she corrected herself again – still slept soundly on the couch, in his traditional balled-up posture. Without thinking about it, she walked over to him and studied his face, absently running a hand through his hair. After a few moments, he stirred, and smiled lazily at her.  
  
“Hey you,” he whispered.  
  
“Hey yourself,” she replied cheekily.  
  
He saw the tears in her eyes and reached out to hold her hand. It was strange, how that simple gesture at once brought her beautiful comfort and drained her at the knowledge that this was as close as they would get tonight. She stared into his eyes, the most vivid green she’d ever seen, and the tears fell once more.  
  
God, how she wanted candlelight.  
  
“Soon,” he whispered into her ear. “Soon.”

 

 


End file.
